


Demon Adora: Liberté, L'amour

by Jezmatron



Series: Celestial Universe [2]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Celestial Powers, Demons, F/F, Mai 1968 | May 1968, Minor Angst, Paris (City), Riots, a tribute, self discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezmatron/pseuds/Jezmatron
Summary: A lost and angry girl, alone in the world, cast out. What purpose has she? What aims and goals and drive?Rage, pain, hate?Or something more... balanced?Paris is so not ready. After all, 1968.... what could happen?
Series: Celestial Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094885
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47





	Demon Adora: Liberté, L'amour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilythetransgoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilythetransgoddess/gifts).



> A little something I pulled together at the request of the Please Come Project (https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Please_Come_Project/profile)
> 
> This is for one of my readers - Lilythetransgoddess - who has been an ever present and joyful fan - and someone who has really helped me see how my work is actually kinda ok! The team wanted to commemorate a special anniversary and I approached me to create this, showing off some history of our favourite Bad Girl doing Good. I was honoured to do so and, without further ado, I really hope you like this one, Lily!

The Latin Quarter was a vibrant, volatile place, full of shouting students and impassioned radicals. Raised voices, bellowed opinions and the raucous laughter of people with joy and  _ passion _ in their hearts. She could practically taste the intensity, the bubbling cauldron of emotion: it was different, something she had barely felt before. Akin to the intensity of her chasing of Knowledge and Balance in Greece; or the flow and certitude of battle in the frozen north of Norway. Even the Revolution of old paled; but she had not been  _ able _ to feel this before., not quite like this. She had revelled in it then but never felt it so fiercely, never felt  _ anything _ so fiercely as she did the roiling mass of emotion and urgent rage. 

Well. That was a lie. There was  _ one _ thing she’d felt fiercely, but had kept hidden, like a banked fire. Amber and blue eyes, the whip of a tail, the smirk across a battlefield.

Such memories served no purpose. Attention to detail, however. That had been her thing, hadn’t it? So certain, so  _ sure _ , so  _ cautious _ . Honestly, these days she wasn’t sure. She was sure she was  _ angry _ . She wanted to watch things burn, to vent her fears and rage and  _ hate _ and…

What was she  _ for _ now? Her role. But also her allegiance.

The Latin Quarter helped ease this sense of unease. Surrounded by the waves and pulse of emotion, she could let it wash over her and increase in temperature. She could feel the feedback and it sated her somewhat: That burning need for madness and rage; the urge to indulge in chaos. The echoes and dreams of the students were like a mild slave for the hunger.

_ You are powerful. Your influence is strong. They know not what gift they have given you, in their hubris and fear. Rise, my champion. Rise and become an agent of change. _

And that’s… well that resonated with what she’d read in the Archives. That it wasn’t Good and Evil, locked in a struggle until Ragnarok or the  Apokálypsis or Armageddon or whatever was due; it  _ had _ been about balance. Or so  _ she _ had said. In the pit.

_ That’s all I wanted, Adora. This ridiculous hierarchy. The meaningless alignment according to the morals of MORTALS? Pathetic. But of course, they would not listen. I did what was necessary. It was awful. Brutal. I will not deny it. Sometimes the necessary thing is cruel and violent. You see that, don’t you? After all, look at what deceptions they wrought! Sent you here! The heir to Heaven’s throne. _

_ Imagine what they will do to everyone else. _

_ Adora. _

She blinked and sighed. She could hear the rowdy arguments from the table next to hers. Some half-baked plan to storm the  _ Sorbonne _ . She tutted to herself - Communists. Passion, fire,  _ belief _ . But no real plan, no real grasp of the wider reality.

And why not? Why not just… give in to the idea? The chaos? The revelation, the  _ bacchanal _ ? 

She smiled to herself and sipped at the sour wine. A memory arose, one that involved dancing in golden fields, her… companion at her side. Tail flared, eyes hungry but unsure; body covered in a downy fur that Adora had ached,  _ ached _ to run her fingers through. That profile - ears and rakish grin, scampering through the field to rejoin the celebration around a bonfire that overlooked the Aegean Sea. 

Better days. Lost days.

Never again.

To see her again would mean death. For one. Or both.

“Attention! All of you! You must remove yourselves! No gatherings!”

She looked up at the man. She took in a uniform, along with a face that seemed to be barely suppressing the fear and anger beneath. 

Gendarme. And several of his  _ friends _ as well, it seemed.

They had been most active recently. After that little  _ fracas _ she had been responsible for on the bridge over the river Gauche, they were cracking down on groups. Of course, the riot had been  _ exhilarating. _ She smiled up at him, all blue eyes and bared teeth.

“I am finishing my wine,  _ monsieur.” _

“You are finished madame, now come with u-” The man reached down to grip her forearm.

She looked demure, behind the table. A black roll-neck. Hair pulled into a ponytail. Legs hidden and folded slightly. When she rose, her hand moving faster than any mere mortal eye could see, the Gendarme’s compatriots actually stumbled back. She stood at her full height - an imposing, statuesque woman.

She held the officer out, straight armed.

Her breathing escalated. The air came out as steam, even in the warm spring air. She felt the rush, the desire to  _ rip _ and  _ roar _ and  _ burn _ .

Her gaze tracked to the table, which she’d knocked over. The man gurgled in her grip as the other officers dithered. The students had gone silent, as had other passers by. Adora smirked.

“ Liberté ”

And she threw the man through the cafe window.

\----------------

The City of Lights was a remarkable place. Small boheme cafes, poetry readings, intense discussions between _intense_ _people_ at small tables over thimbles of wine that was closer to vinegar. The drift of cigarette smoke that blended with the churning exhaust of automobiles. 

So much had changed. But Paris had always been a hub; somewhere in the middle of rolling hills and rivers that people congregated. The Siege of Paris had been a visceral time and the city was now so much  _ more _ than back then. So much had changed and also… had not.

_ Paris could be beautiful _ , pondered Adora. She surveyed the city from a rooftop overlooking the Seine river.

Her little tantrum of a week prior may have… gotten out of control. Millions marching through the streets; workers’ strikes; student revolutionaries - it was all so chaotic. She’d been in the crowds, stoking their violence against the representatives of  _ order _ of  _ control _ of  _ stagnation. _

The city was like a keg of black powder, ready to ignite.

But she held back. She could tip it into madness, bloodshed, violence. In the past such thoughts hadn’t bothered her all that much - she had been an angel sent to guide a battle one way or another, always with a guiding plan, or a partner to guide and be guided by. Which, in itself, had presented opportunities. Which she had shied away from.

A road she had not taken, should have taken.

She stared out across the pinpricks of light, the wrought iron tower that so dominated the skyline, the haze of fires being fought. In the air, the protest songs of students, communists, workers.  _ People _ .

War was easy - an army versus an army. Men who knew their duty - dragooned or professional. Theirs was to do or die. For a cause or a man or a nation.

But here, in a city of  _ millions _ ? More in this one place than had occupied tracts of land across Norway. A scale she hadn’t seen in life beyond the animal level. Caught up in a maelstrom of her wrath. Could she bring Terror back to Paris? Was that  _ right _ ?

A voice, dark, and soft and smooth and wrapped in darkness said:  _ Yes. They deserve it. Justice comes from strength. If they have no strength, then they fall. Undeserving. _

But that felt wrong. Unbalanced.

She stared over at the grand buildings, her eyesight sharp.

Armies fought. Nations squabbled. But often, it was for the want of a nail that things failed. A singular weakness. A brick in the foundation that needed to be… knocked loose.

An agent of change. Chaos, yes. Violence, yes. But those were  _ not _ the goals.

She was  _ justice _ . Proud Athena, Wisdom in the balance. Noble Brunhilde, judging the worth of those before her.

Adora, the Omega to the Alpha of Mara.

That spurred a thought. An idea.

\--------

The helicopter buzzed higher as it climbed away from the Elysée Paris. The pilot had his instructions, the destination a direct flight to the border. The passenger’s safety: the priority. Old, tired eyes peered out of the window and watched the city dwindle below - so peaceful from up high.

"Monsieur le Président. A pleasure.”

Those eyes flicked in alarm to the  _ empty _ seats before him. The seats that  _ should _ have been empty. He realised he could hear her voice above the thrum of the rotors.

A woman sat there: black bodysuit and combat boots, elbows on spread knees and a lazy half smile directed his way. Blonde hair cascaded in a golden waterfall. Blue… no… red? Yes, BLUE eyes stared at him. Hungry.

“Wh… how… Where?”

“The most important one is  _ why _ , Monsieur,” the voice was lazy, a drawl. The accent was French, but it felt  _ older _ somehow. The air smelled of honey and spices suddenly. “Tell me, Monsieur le Président, are you a proud man? A vain man?”

“This… I am dreaming. I am…”

“Wasting  _ time _ ,” the voice was a growl, a snarl that hit him in a part of his brain that screamed of things in the shadows of caves that scared even the beasts with claws and fangs. The voice rumbled at a deeper pitch than the woman before him, even with her broad shoulders and hunched profile, should have been able to conjure.

“What do you want?”

The blonde head tilted to one side and the woman blinked slowly, “So  _ many _ things. I can’t have them though. Boss lady  _ ruined _ that. But hey, duty of parents to  _ fuck up _ their kids, huh?”

“I… do not follow.”

“No, you  _ lead _ . And you did well.  _ So well _ . But are you becoming the monster you fought, Monsieur Président? Liberté, egalité, fraternité seems to have fled your long term ideals. Men and women bleed in the streets, your jackbooted men kick and snarl and  _ lie _ for you to keep … the peace. At what cost, stability, huh?”

He watched her as she leaned back against the leather of the seats. She spread her arms across the other chairs and focused those eyes on him. He rolled his shoulders, “You do not scare me.”

“Proud. Arrogant, even. But there is truth in you - without  _ you _ it all falls apart. It will fall apart. Chaos will reign. Blood will be shed,” she sing-songed the words, “Ah….  _ she _ would love it.”

Her eyes become distant for a moment. Wistful. It was, oddly,  _ more _ terrifying as it shifted to sudden grief. It only lasted for a moment. Those blues fixed upon him once more. He swallowed, “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“Your book … the, oh which one was it … oh YES! The one that talks about walking in the desert. Think of me as … a test. You have choices here. Good, bad, indifferent. We could crash now, you become a martyr for your country, a  _ symbol _ . You could announce punishing reforms, in the street executions! You could … resign.”

He bristled. “I am no coward, I will face my en-” The engine stuttered and the helicopter began to tumble. The woman smirked and leaned forward.

“Just so you know… I’ll be  _ fine _ .”

“Wait! WAIT! I … I can talk!”

The engine whirred to life again and the panicked voice of the pilot came over the intercom. After a moment, the president managed to calm the man and instructed him to continue. The woman smiled wider, “Excellent. Trust me … we have  _ time.” _

\-------

“ _..... de Gaulle announced today that elections are to be held on the 23rd of June, 1968. After a month of civil unrest, the announcement has brought to an end a period of instability, uncertainty and fears of a communist uprising. Spokesmen for the Socialist party announced their support, swiftly followed by the Communist party. President de Gaulle also set out expectations for workers to return to work and cease their wildcat protests … The lack of aggressive police response over the past few weeks appears to have smoothed tensions between groups and …” _

Adora tuned out the sound of the radio and smiled as she leaned back. The Beast was sated, for now. Fire and fury had raged. Fear had been roused.  _ Justice _ had been served. The police and forces of  _ control _ had been pushed back, with some compromise.

That would have gotten her a scoff, a tail lash and maybe even an eyeroll. But also a smile. Adora allowed herself to indulge the sorrow, for a moment.

Change … change was slow. Water on a mountain, slowly chipping away. She could change. She could chart her course. Steer others. Guide as she had done - but according to  _ her own _ plan now.

An open road before her, unmarked by expectation and duty. It contained pain and violence and hurt. But also victory, justice,  _ joy _ . And how could one experience good and  _ know _ it to be good… without a little bit of the dark, after all?

  
  



End file.
